Evil's Night In
by Eunoia
Summary: Set after The Gift. Spike's babysitting Dawn. Only PG13 for language. Not a SD shipper story, friendship only.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all.  
  
Most people could trace every event in their life back to some original cause, if they wanted to. Everyday when Xander or Willow or anyone woke up they knew that their presence in that room, in that bed, next to that person, on that day, was because of something that had happened to them the day before, and the day before that, and even before their own conceptions.  
  
Things weren't quite that simple for Dawn. She had just popped into being one day. She didn't even know what day that was. Her birthday really meant nothing, so it didn't matter that it was two days ago and no one had mentioned it. Everyone was really busy after all, what with Buffy being gone.  
  
Maybe the complete and total weirdness that was Dawn's life was a result of this lack of causation. Maybe her life was the definition of chaos. That was the only possible explanation for why this sixteen-year-old girl in a Hello Kitty tank top should be sitting, watching a 'Dawson's Creek' rerun with a century-old vampire with bleach-blonde hair and a leather jacket, while her (sister's) friends ran around a graveyard, poking sticks into the hearts of other vampires, alongside a robot that looked like her sister, even smelled like her sister, but was not her sister.  
  
What with all the massive amounts of insanity, it was even more insane that what Dawn found the strangest was that Spike should be here with her while Xander, Willow, Tara, Anya, and Giles were out patrolling. Dawn made a note to ask him why when the commercial came, but for the time being, she submersed herself in the trials and tribulations of the Capesiders.  
  
When Mr. Clean's biceps inherited the screen from James van der Beek's forehead, Dawn turned the sound down and turned to Spike.  
  
"Spike, why are you here?" she blurted out.  
  
"I sit through this 'Dawson Stream' or whatever it's called, and that's the thanks I get. I'm obviously appreciated here."  
  
"Oh, please. You watch 'Passions'. And that's not what I meant. I just meant, why aren't you out killing things? I thought killing was, like, your hobby."  
  
"Well sure, I like a good slaughter every once in awhile, but if I was out there, who would be here with you?"  
  
"I don't know, Tara or Giles or someone. I mean you're the best fighter they've got."  
  
"The only thing that matters to me is keeping you safe, Nibblet. I'll let the witches and the gang take care of the rest of the world." Dawn knew she shouldn't be pleased with his apparent lack of compassion for anyone but her, but she couldn't help it. "I promised the Slayer I would protect you, and just because I failed the first time, doesn't mean I'm going to give up."  
  
Dawn's face fell. "Oh," she said, turning the volume back up.  
  
Spike was confused. Only a moment ago she had looked at him like he had promised her free 'NSYNC tickets, and now she was obviously pissed off. Over a hundred years on the planet and he would still never understand the teenaged mind. He was tempted to just keep watching the show, but finally curiosity and a hint of some unidentifiable feeling led him to hit the mute button and pull the girl around to face him. "Why don't you stop being immature and tell me what's bothering you."  
  
Dawn tried to avoid his gaze, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Why do you even care!? It's not like we're friends!"  
  
"Who says we're not friends?"  
  
"You did. You said the only reason that you come hang out with me is because of the promise you made to Buffy. It's the only reason you do anything. But you know what? Buffy's not around anymore. And I—and the rest of us are!"  
  
Spike was at a loss. "Bit, I..."  
  
"Do you even like me at all?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah, sure I do," he answered after a moment's hesitation.  
  
"Be honest."  
  
"I don't hate you. That's something, right?"  
  
"Gee, thanks," she said, obviously hurt.  
  
"Hey. I'm a vampire. I pretty much hate everyone. I hate your entire Scooby gang, and I hate every sniveling person walking by on the street, and every demon that laughs behind my back at my impotence. So not being hated by me: quite an accomplishment."  
  
Dawn wasn't sure whether this was supposed to comfort her. "You didn't hate her."  
  
"Who? Big sis? Sure I did. Sometimes I hated her more than all the rest of them put together."  
  
"But I thought you loved her."  
  
"I did—I do. But I hated that I loved her, and I hated that she didn't love me back, and I hated that she pretty much constantly wanted to dust me, and that I constantly wanted to suck her dry."  
  
Dawn swallowed. "Um, alright then."  
  
"Sorry. Did I scare you?"  
  
"No," she lied. "So does this mean we are friends."  
  
Spike smiled. "Yeah, I guess. But don't let it get around. Guys like me aren't really supposed to be friends with people with kitties on their t- shirts."  
  
Dawn laughed. "Guys like you? What does that mean anyway? There are no guys like you." She blushed as soon as she said this. "I didn't mean..."  
  
"No, I get what you meant. And you're right. I am one of a kind." Dawn rolled her eyes at his trademark arrogance. "I just meant evil guys, in general."  
  
"Oh, please. I am so much more evil than you."  
  
"You take that back, you little fiend! You're about the least evil person in existence."  
  
Dawn looked down at her hands. "I was designed to unleash hell on earth, or have you forgotten? Not to mention that people are constantly getting hurt, even dying, because of me. If that's not evil, I don't know what is."  
  
"Of course that's not evil. I know evil. Just because bad things tend to happen around you, it doesn't make you evil. You have to want to make them happen. There's hardly a waking moment where I'm not imagining killing, or at least maiming or torturing someone. If you could see inside my head, then you would see what true evil is."  
  
"Yeah, but you don't actually do anything evil. I do. Everyone has bad thoughts, maybe some worse than others, but thoughts alone don't mean anything."  
  
"Thoughts alone? For a hundred and twenty years I acted on those impulses. The only reason I'm not still doing so, is because I can't."  
  
"But you didn't choose to do those things, either. You were turned; you couldn't help it. So if you're right about me not being evil, then neither are you."  
  
"I could have stopped her, though. Drusilla. I was weak, and I let her take me, knowing it could lead to nothing good."  
  
"Weakness isn't the same as evil, Spike. It can't be. We're all weak sometimes."  
  
"So maybe we're all evil."  
  
"Or maybe to be evil you have to choose to do evil and follow through with your choice. So maybe neither of us are evil." Dawn looked up at Spike hopefully.  
  
"Yeah, maybe." The pair sat in silence, staring at the screen, mulling over this new possibility. Dawn flashed a quick smile in Spike's direction and he couldn't help but smile back. Suddenly they were both uncomfortable and turned back to the screen. "You know who's evil? James van der Beek. Big foreheads are a sure sign of evil," said Spike.  
  
Dawn giggled. "I can't believe you know who James van der Beek is. I thought you never watched this show."  
  
"The fact that you own a Backstreet Boys poster waives any right you may have had to mock me for my shitty taste."  
  
Dawn stopped laughing. "It was a gift from Buffy for my thirteenth birthday. She used to give me a poster every year, but I wrecked most of them when I found out I was the key. It's the only one I have left now, so I didn't want to take it down."  
  
"Oh." Spike wasn't sure what to say. His only similar experience was keeping the coat of another dead slayer, long after her death. He knew enough about humans to know that that story was hardly comforting.  
  
"My birthday was on Wednesday. It was the first one that I can remember without a poster. But for all I know there never were any poster birthdays. I've probably never spent a birthday with Buffy, or my mom." Dawn could hardly hold back tears as she realized that this was true.  
  
"Hey! Don't say that. The fact that you remember it makes it real."  
  
"Do you really believe that, Spike? I remember Pacey hooking up with Joey. It doesn't mean it really happened."  
  
"You know what, you have really got to stop feeling sorry for yourself! So maybe you didn't exist a year ago. Who fucking cares? For all I know, I only came into existence in this moment, and all my memories are false. It could be true of anyone. Maybe you're just the only one who figured it out. Or maybe we don't even exist right now. Maybe we're figments of someone's imagination! It doesn't matter. What matters is that we keep going; keep fighting; keep living, and stop worrying about the past! So shut the hell up, and let's watch some DC."  
  
Dawn had been staring at him, shocked, throughout his outburst. Her tears had dried out of sheer surprise. She opened her mouth to respond angrily, then thought better of it. Her mind went back to that night on the tower; Buffy's last words: "Be brave, live...for me." If she really thought about it, this wasn't a whole lot different from what Spike had just told her. She smiled. A slayer and a vampire giving the same advice. Only in Dawn's world.  
  
An hour later, Willow and Tara arrived home to the sight of Dawn, fast asleep, her head on Spike's shoulder. When Spike heard them come in, he carefully extracted himself without awakening the sleeping girl, and headed out the door. No time to chit-chat with the witches; he had a poster store to break into. 


End file.
